Heaven's Savior (Supernatural)
by ddacat
Summary: When Dean Winchester is a demon, Heaven is controlled by Hell, and God has gone missing, it's up to Sam, Caterina, and Castiel to save the earth and the skies. With just the three of them against the King of Hell and the demon of Sam's brother, they know it won't be easy. SEQUEL TO HELL'S PROTEGE
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yay! So I finally got started on part two! If you haven't read part one, you can find it on my profile. It's called _Hell's Protege_, previously called Hell's Little Girl.**

* * *

After he sacrificed himself for Caterina, Dean didn't wake up for a while. In the burst that activated the Celestial Escalator, the connection between Heaven and Hell, he, Crowley, and Golchen were transported to Heaven. It was completely deserted of angels, just like Crowley had predicted. The only inhabitants were the few worker angels who had been tasked with the reconstruction of what was left of Heaven. For Crowley, they were easily taken care of. But Dean? That was another issue.

It was too bad, really. Crowley actually liked Dean. If it had been Caterina who was sacrificed, like he'd planned, then this all would be going along much smoother. He'd turn Caterina into a demon, then task her with bringing him back to life if he ever died again. So now he had to make do.

Dean sacrificing himself for Caterina ended up the way one would suspect. He died. As Crowley had originally planned to do with Caterina, Crowley took his demonic power and sculpted Dean's soul. He didn't change it much or alter the Winchester's character. He instead colored the soul black. And when Dean woke up, his soul would match the color of his eyes.

Dean awoke in his childhood bed, in his own little corner of Heaven. A demon, demon hunter in Heaven. His face was scratched and slightly burnt from the earlier fights in the warehouse. In the chair where his mother used to read him stories, Crowley sat staring fondly at his creation.

"Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal, bring you back. It's exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It's all become so... expected. You have to believe me. When I decided to use your Caterina as the sacrifice, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really. I mean, I might not have told you or her the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. I acted. But...there is thing about the plan that I might have... forgotten to tell you. After I took Miss Winchester's life, I wanted to use her. I would bring her back, the way I am bringing you back. I wanted her to _live._ But I didn't know. I didn't know if it was truly possible. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation? It wasn't until you defeated evil time and time again... No, it wasn't truly until you did the unthinkable and took in the poor girl...that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true.

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester, what you're feeling right now- it's not death. It's life- a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."

So Dean did. He blinked his eyes open. And they were no longer beautiful green. They were just like Crowley had said. A deep, terrible black, matching the empty wretchedness of his soul and the dark abyss of Hell.

Then Dean jolted. He shot up from the covers. He came right back down, his eyes shut once more the moment the back of his head came in contact with the pillow..

Crowley smiled. "You'll get used to it, Squirrel."

* * *

After Dean sacrificed himself for her, Caterina started to notice the effects of the Celestial Escalator. Demons hardly ever wandered around on Earth. Crowley and Golchen were impossible to reach. Angels were locked out of Heaven again. Her incredible learning skills stayed, but Sam's happiness and Castiel's sense of being just disappeared. Castiel now sulked around with her and Sam. Sam became cold. He seldom showed the nice, kind side of him. He was obsessed with bringing Dean back. He tried selling his soul, sending Cas to Heaven, finding the Celestial Escalator, and summoning Crowley and Golchen, but none of that worked.

And Caterina? She immersed herself in learning. When she wasn't being shuttled to and from different locations by Sam, she "borrowed" cars to learn to drive. She convinced Cas to take her to learn gymnastics and martial arts. She knew Sam wouldn't have the time. And when Caterina finally fell asleep, all she saw was the ring of fire and Dean's disappointed face.

She gave up on going to school a while ago. That was why she was currently at the local library, reading the books she found interesting. As she read through, the explanation of Norse gods in fine print began to swim and blur in her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear it. Panic rose up in her. She knew her lack of sleep was the cause of this. Her insomnia had to eventually catch up with her.

Unfortunately, even after blinking several times, Caterina only felt more dizzy. As she passed out into the old library armchair, the only thing she saw clearly among her swirling vision was an image of Dean shaking his head at her, a reminder of the source of her insomnia. When her head sank into the worn linen, she whispered the only thing that could help her now.

* * *

Sam stepped into the motel room, peeling off his blood-streaked jacket. Cas looked away from the window to glance at the hard-faced man, before looking back at the cars rushing by.

"Do you ever think..." the angel mused aloud, "that all your work may be for nothing?"

The question was left hanging, but they both knew the answer.

"Where's Caterina?" Sam asked.

"If I am not wrong, she is still at the library," Cas answered curtly.

Sam frowned even more, if that was possible. "She should be back by now. The library closes in ten minutes."

Cas started to look at Sam, but suddenly a sound hit his ears and, on cue, he disappeared from the motel room.

"Cas!" Sam exclaimed in irritation to the empty room.

* * *

Cas reappeared in the library, in front of Caterina's slumped body. He set the book on a nearby shelf. Then, he lifted the girl up and flew her back to Sam.

When Sam saw Caterina asleep in Cas's arms, the first thing he did was panic and check her pulse. Death had become unhealthily common for him. Only after he confirmed she was alive did he notice the steady rise and fall of her chest, indicating her breathing, and her furrowed brows and shivers. He took Caterina from Cas and set her on her bed. He gently smoothed out the crinkled skin between her eyebrows.

Since it had been just him and her on the road, he no longer needed to rent a separate room or request a sofa bed for her. As for Cas, it was a commonly known fact that angels didn't sleep. Instead, he claimed the desk and stayed there, thinking for the whole time.

Sam frowned at the pain and exhaustion present on Caterina's face. He looked at the angel. "What's wrong with her?"

Cas smiled slightly. "Insomnia. She dreams of Dean dying."

Sam's expression softened when he gazed back at Caterina. He pulled the covers away from where they were folded under the mattress and tucked her into the sheets. He had been so busy trying to bring Dean back that he hadn't even looked to see how she was doing.

Sam collapsed onto his own bed and buried his face in his hands. "I'm so tired, Cas." Cas didn't reply. "I've tried in every way possible to get Dean back. I can't summon Crowley because he's in Heaven. I can't even take care of Caterina. What am I supposed to do?" He looked at the angel for help, or maybe some words of comfort.

But all Cas said was, "I'm afraid you're asking the wrong angel."

* * *

When Caterina awoke in the backseat of the Impala, it felt like her first day all over again. Unaware of where she was, what had happened to her, or what was happening.

She yawned and pushed herself upright. The grid pattern of the blanket around her left imprints on her skin and the much-needed sleep left her feeling refreshed but also dazed.

"Twelve hours," Sam said. "Longest you've slept since I met you."

She stretched out her limbs. "Where are we going?"

"Visiting an old friend. I don't know why Dean and I never thought to visit him before."

"Who?"

"Chuck Shurley."

"The prophet," Cas noted from his position in the passenger seat.

"Didn't all the prophets die? Like your friend Kevin?" Caterina asked.

"Not Chuck. He's a different kind of prophet. Kind of like a Winchester specialist."

She frowned, her sleepiness still slowing her thought. "Winchester specialist?"

"Long story," Sam said. "But we have time."

The clock read 8:30 a.m. Sam speculated they would reach Chuck's house by 11:40 and he knew that, sleepy or not, Caterina would want a story. And besides, she deserved to know. Her whole encounter with Chuck would be a lot easier if she knew about him.

"Chuck is a writer," Sam explained. "He goes under the penname Carver Edlund. He writes a book series called _Supernatural_."

"One day, they will be known as the Winchester Gospels," Cas added.

Caterina yawned pulled her blanket more tightly around her. Early November mornings were cold. It didn't matter where they were in the States. "Okay."

"He gets visions about events that have to do with Dean and me," Sam continued, "And he writes them down. We met him at least five years ago. Haven't seen him since I went to Hell."

"Why not?"

He frowned. "It never came up, I guess. He might know how to get Dean back."

"I hope so," she murmured. "How long?"

"Three hours."

"'Kay. Wake me…" Her eyes fluttered shut, "...up… then…." And she drifted off, the soft hum of the engine eased to a soft silence.

* * *

Sam left Caterina in the car with Cas when he went up to knock on Chuck's dirty front door. When no one answered after three tries and several calls of "Chuck? It's Sam! Open up!", Sam cautiously pulled out a gun and tried the door. It creaked open easily.

He rested the barrel of the gun on the edge of the door. He counted to three and burst through the threshold, spinning around to get a good look without letting his guard down. As he searched the house, he found no sign of Chuck anywhere. The house looked like it hadn't been lived in for at least a week.

On the kitchen table, among about ten two-foot-tall stacks of _Supernatural _books, Sam found a note written in Chuck's messy handwriting.

_Sam,_ the note scrawled, _You won't find me here. Did you really think it would be that easy? Anyway, I know you'll need me to get Dean back, so here's a hint: "No, He's not on any flatbread." -Castiel, 'Good God, Y'all' _Supernatural_ Vol. 5, #2_.

Sam was disappointed at the lack of Chuck in the house, but his heart skipped a beat at the sign of hope. _A hint. _He began rummaging through the stacks. Nine of them were at an even height of twenty three books. But the tenth stack only had five. Interested, Sam examined that measly stack. The book on the bottom, the first in the volume, was labeled "Lost Blood". Then there was "Don't Stop Believing", "High School Romance", "First Kill", and finally, "Hell's Protege". He tore his eyes from the written forms of his adventures with Caterina and focused back on the mission. He searched the stacks for volume five. When he found it, he carefully extracted the second book from the bottom of the pile.

He spent several minutes flipping through the pages until he hit a highlighted section. The cryptic hint was glaringly obvious.

He shut the book, keeping his finger at the right page, and bounded outside. "Cas!" He called, forgetting about keeping quiet for Caterina. "I know where to find Chuck!"


	2. Chapter 2

Caterina jerked awake and stared out the window. If she wasn't so drowsy, she would have laughed at the image of 6'4" Sam racing out of a shabby house, waving a book at an angel.

"Chuck left me some clues. They're hidden in his books," Sam said. "So far, I know we're looking in the wrong state."

Sam walked over to Cas and showed him the highlighted passage in the novel.

"_Try New Mexico," Dean joked. "I hear He's on a tortilla."_

"_No," Castiel answered thoughtfully, "He's not on any flatbread."_

The part that read "Try New Mexico" was underlined three times. Then, in the margin, in Chuck's same inky blue script, were instructions: _Unless you wanna search the whole state of NM, go to page 72 of Dog Dean Afternoon._

Looking up at Cas, Sam forced a smile at the angel's next remark.

"I remember that. We were talking about God. Is he referencing my Father to compare himself to God?"

"You know, Cas, the first time we met him, he thought he was a god." Sam thought back to that moment, remembering that Chuck had thought his creations came to life. In hindsight, it was kind of funny. If only Sam was in the mood to laugh. "Anyway, we have to find the rest of the clues. Coming?" Sam started walking to the house again as Cas hastily caught up.

Caterina rubbed her eyes and yawned again. Stretching her cramped limbs, she stepped out of Dean's car and followed the man and the angel, her motions sleepy, like a zombie.

As she slowly made her way into the missing writer's house, she reflected briefly on her dreams. Dean had haunted most of them; her dead mother, friends, and demon father haunted the rest. She wondered why she was stuck in perpetual dreaming- usually, by the first nightmare, she would have jerked awake and stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night. But this time her mind was a cage, keeping her in with the lions and bears of her subconscious. It was torture, put simply.

When she joined Sam and Cas, they had already sifted through two more clues. In _Dog Dean Afternoon_, they found the highlighted quote: "_Going home. I'm going home," Yet another dog chanted. "Honey, I'm coming home."_

The margin note said to go to volume 10, book 1: _Lost Blood. _Only one phrase was highlighted from that book, "_next door." _In context, the passage read: "_Yeah, uh… we're here to investigate the house fire next door that occurred last week." Sam pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, exposing his almost genuine FBI card and golden badge. Dean did the same. "I'm Agent Angus and this is my partner, Agent Young."_

The note in this one just said to look through volume 10, book 3: _High School Romance._ Caterina felt the urge to join in then, partly because she realized what part of her life was outlined in that novel, so she grabbed the book and started flipping through the pages. It was lucky she did, because this message was obviously meant for her. All the highlighted words and phrases from random sections of the novel added up to read: _Caterina, look, I understand that those black-eyed demons are terrible and Satan's spawn, but there are things that go by the same name of "demons" that are much, much worse. Everything will be fine, trust me. _

She blinked as she pieced together that message from a man she'd never met. Sam and Cas were right. He truly was a prophet.

Sam stared at her in concern. "What did you find?"

She shook her head and flipped through the pages. On one of the blank pages at the end, another note was scrawled: _You should already know where to find me with the clues given. Hurry up, because each moment wasted is a moment lost to get Dean back. Oh, and these signed-edition books are free. You're welcome. -Chuck Shurley_

"Here," she replied, handing him the book open to the note. "Let's go." Deep in thought and worry, she wandered back to the car. When adults told her that everything would be fine and to trust them, she usually knew they were lying. That's what they said when her friends died, and that time she broke her leg and lost all her chances to try out for the middle school swim team. That was also what Dean told her before they embarked on their final mission at the warehouse in Minneapolis.

When Sam was left alone with Cas, he was certain something else had occurred in the last few seconds besides Caterina reading the note. So, he flipped back through the book and realized- there was a note written to Caterina. It had hardly occurred to him that Chuck knew Caterina existed, but it was obvious now. He felt guilty reading the note, but he was concerned for the girl and scanned the highlighted words anyway.

When Caterina had read it, the meaning immediately registered in her head. Demons weren't just warped souls, they were mental spooks, like depression, anxiety, and in her case, ghosts of her past. For Sam, despite his intelligence, it took him a moment and two rereads to understand what Chuck was saying. And then the weight of what the fourteen-year-old was dealing with hit him like a ton of bricks. Sure it was nothing compared to what he, Cas, and Dean had gone through individually, but she was supposed to be the innocent one, filled with life. They had warned her at the beginning, and so the effects of the hunting life had taken their first effects on her.

If he was better with kids, like Dean, he might have gone to comfort her like he usually comforted adults in harsh situations. But he didn't. Instead, he grew even more determined to bring Dean back. "Cas, let's stuff these books in the trunk," he ordered.

"I can just fly back every time we need them," the angel pointed out.

Sam relented. "Fine. But I'll take the start of volume ten." He stacked up the books and tucked them under his arm. "Let's go to New Mexico."

Cas assessed the situation, wondering at Sam's motives and Caterina's change in mood. Then, he disappeared to the car. Sam nodded. When he got time, he was going to read Caterina's adventures. He thought it would help.

* * *

During the following drive, Caterina found Sam's stash of volume ten novels and started to sneak read them. By the second day on the road, she was halfway through the books and found her favorite passage in Chuck's distinctive, dreamy writing. She loved it. It helped her imagine that Dean was still there and not lost in God knows where, despite the fact that it centered on her.

_The road seemed to stretch on forever. The moon glowed dimly in its waning crescent shape and the stars were brighter than ever out on the countryside trails. This was the kind of night where Dean would stop the car by the side. Then he and Sam would sit on the Impala's hood and just watch the constellations among the waving fields and silence of crickets and zephyrs. Since mid-September when the brothers had picked up Caterina, they liked to do the same, but with a small, feminine shape between their two masculine silhouettes on top of the black muscle car._

_But this time, as they barrelled through the night, the twin headlights the brightest beams in a twenty mile radius, they used the time to tell stories._

_It usually started with Dean saying, "Sam, remember that girl in..." and then he would talk about the case he met the girl on and Sam would roll his eyes and steer the conversation to the actual case. Then Dean would butt in with how they almost died and how he saved the day. And Caterina would pull her legs to her chest and just listen to the staccato and lulling legato of her family's voices, absorbing each detail of the brothers' adventures. Sometimes she would imagine if she had been there too, to beat Bloody Mary or land in an archangel-generated TV show. But most of the time, she just smiled slightly to herself and wished with all her heart on the passing airplanes that this road trip would never end._

After Caterina read the section ten times in her head, she closed the book lightly, keeping her finger stuck in the pages, and hugged it to her chest as she stared out the dark window. At that moment, she wouldn't have minded never meeting Jack, like _High School Romance _reminded her, if she could just see Dean now.

* * *

Dean sat up in the creaky bed with a new sense of being. He didn't care at all, about anything, or anyone, and it felt good. He absolutely didn't care that he didn't care.

Until he stepped out of bed, unsteady and wobbly from his transformation, and stubbed his toe on the wooden bedframe, just to remind himself that he should watch out for corners as to not face the miniscule pain again. That's when he realized that he didn't, in fact, have no cares; he cared very much about one thing: himself.

It was confusing at first. He tried to remember. Did he used to care? It was apparent that he did care before. After all, that was how he became a demon, the very thing he used to hunt and hate with a passion. It seemed that that hate was now transformed: a hate for everything and everyone, nonspecific and unwavering. He hated the most those that tried to hurt him. And on top of that list, currently, was Sam. In Dean's new mind, it was clear that Sam hunted demons like he himself used to and therefore would want to hunt Dean. And wasn't there loathing beneath the surface ever since Dean had tried to save Sam's life by allowing Gadreel to possess him? Dean was certain Sam had every motive to harm him.

The only reason he didn't decide to hate Caterina was because she was the one who landed him in this state of fake bliss, of uncaring. And besides, she was much too weak, mentally, to even try to hurt him. She wasn't as experienced in hunting to know that Dean was bad now.

Dean pulled down his shirt, staring in confusion at the anti-possession tattoo on his chest. It clicked that he wasn't possessed; he _was _the demon. For some reason, the thought was satisfying.

Dean wandered out the door of his childhood bedroom and down the stairs. He found his way out of the house and began wandering down the road. Heaven worked like points on a road; each memory or blissful location could be found somewhere along the road; and if one went far enough, they could end up in the Garden, the center of Heaven.

As Dean surroundings melted into another, he felt a sudden, jerking motion on his whole body and the softly melting scenes whipped by at the speed of light until he felt his body _plop _into a slightly familiar place.

The Garden. But it didn't look much like the Garden, not like the last time he'd seen it. Wing-shaped shadows stained almost every surface. The green shrubbery was yellowed, withered, and in some places, burnt to the roots. The color green itself looked like it had died. Small flames and smolders flickered around the garden. The vegetated walls were collapsed and see-through. Though it appeared the Garden went on forever, it was an eternity of death and pain.

It was a twisted, horror-movie interpretation of Heaven. If Dean hadn't known better, he would have said it was Hell.

"Hello, Tweedle-dumber," a smug accent spoke out among the silence of the Garden. Dean whirled around to face Crowley, for once without feeling knots of fury. "Nice of you to finally join the world of the living." He fake-cringed. "Or, should I say, world of the _waking._"

"You," Dean said, unsure as to whether he should sound accusatory, angry, or something else.

"Me," Crowley grinned. "How does it feel? Not caring, not minding? Just hate and the freedom to carry it out."

"It feels good," Dean admitted. "It feels empty."

"Oh, Dean," the King of Hell tsked, "You should know more than anyone what emptiness feels like. Don't fib to me. What you are feeling is _not _empty. It's glory."

Dean didn't have much to say, for once. He was too busy feeling to talk.

"What's that?" Crowley cupped his hand to his ear, mocking listening. He chuckled. "Oh, really? You want to go back to earth? Back to your Moose and Bird? Oh, I see. Have it your way."

He snapped his fingers and Dean finally realized how it must have felt when Castiel fell from Heaven. Then he landed in firmly packed dirt with a thud.


End file.
